by Lyn Denison
Mel stepped closer to the water and pretended to regard the babbling stream. In truth she was waiting for her excited flush to subside before she rejoined the other woman.
“It does look cold,” she said as evenly as she could.
“Chicken.” Crys chuckled softly. “I guess we’ll have to wait till the weather warms up before we consider any swimming, clothed or not. In summer it’s magic. Well, how about some lunch?”
Mel murmured noncommittally, not meeting Crys’s gaze as she busied herself unclipping the lid of the cooler. If she didn’t banish from her mind all these graphic thoughts of Crys’s naked body, she’d be incapable of speaking coherently, let alone trying to eat her lunch. Resolutely Mel lifted the top of the cooler. There, nestled on their picnic lunch, was a small bottle of wine. She lifted it out in surprise.
“I didn’t see you put this in.”
Crys smiled. “I thought some wine would be nice. I’m limiting myself to one glass, though. Any more and I’ll probably go to sleep.”
“Great.” Mel handed Crys the wine and two plastic wineglasses and continued unpacking their picnic.
They had a crisp tossed salad with a tangy dressing, corn, chicken, and crusty bread. And there was fresh fruit for afterward.
Mel set out the two plates. “Shall I dish up?” she asked. Crys nodded as she uncorked the wine bottle and poured out two glasses.
Soon they were eating enthusiastically, and Mel murmured appreciatively as she took a sip of wine.
“This is delicious. I didn’t realize I was so hungry,” she said. “Apart from that, I love picnics.”
“You always did,” Crys said lightly.
“Remember we always went to Colleges Crossing?” Mel said as old memories rose.
Crys nodded. “I have a photograph of us all taken on one of our many jaunts up there.”
“You do? You’ll have to show me one day.” Mel laughed. “We had great fun.”
Crys grimaced. “Most of the time.”
Mel’s smile faltered. “You mean it was fun when Paul didn’t come with us. I remember that too.”
“I shouldn’t have—” Crys sighed and nodded. “You were just a child. I didn’t know if you would have noticed Paul’s moodiness. He could be a real wet blanket when he tried.”
“Well, I do remember it was better when he didn’t come with us. That’s awful, isn’t it?”
“But true,” Crys agreed. “Paul was a very unhappy person. I didn’t realize when I met him how moody and self-focused he really was. Of course, I wasn’t the woman he thought he was getting either, so that didn’t help.”
“Mum was the only one who could coax him out of a bad mood.”
“Yes.” Crys shook her head sadly. “I guess Paul should have married someone like Angela. I’m afraid I let him down badly.”
“From what I remember he didn’t do much to help himself,” Mel defended Crys.
“Maybe not.” Crys shrugged. “Well, anyway, that’s all water under the bridge, as they say. But those picnics at Colleges Crossing with you all were pretty great, weren’t they?”
Mel grinned. “They sure were.”
“You were a frightful tease back then,” Crys continued. “Remember the day you tipped me off the inner tube and the strap on my swimsuit broke?” Crys chuckled. “God, I was mortified. Squatting beneath the water with one boob floating free. Squatting beneath the very clear, almost transparent water, I might add,” she said with feeling, and Mel actually flushed at the memory.
Especially after she’d been imagining Crys naked in this creek only a short time ago. And Mel knew she remembered that particular afternoon very well. She’d been absolutely awed that day staring at the perfect, full shape of Crys’s breast. She must have been about twelve or thirteen at the time, and she was still as flat chested herself as she’d always been.
As she’d stood in the water near Crys, Mel had had to fight the urge to reach out, touch Crys’s body, and bury her face in the damp softness of it. And she could feel again the confusing emotions — the mixture of excitement and shame — that moment had aroused within her.
Crys had looked so very beautiful. Just recalling it now caused a tightening between Mel’s legs. She looked up at Crys again, and the other woman was still smiling, apparently oblivious of Mel’s licentious thoughts.
“I had the darnedest trouble trying to cover my modesty until your mother took pity on me and saved the day with a large, enveloping towel.”
Mel made herself laugh lightly. “Mum to the rescue again.”
“Exactly,” said Crys with feeling. “Paul was livid with me and later he gave me a long-winded lecture about being a lady and behaving in a seemly manner befitting my position as his wife. We had a huge fight. But then again, fighting was all we seemed to do.”
Mel sighed. “You know it was the same with Dad and Mum before they got a divorce,” she said softly. “Not that Dad was as bad as Paul, but since Dad married Cindy he’s been a different person. It’s amazing how life changes your whole personality, isn’t it?”
“It changes some people’s personalities. It appears to depend on the person.”
Mel gave that some thought and then nodded. “I guess you’re right. Mum was unhappy with Dad, too, but it didn’t make her moody and irritable with everyone else.” Mel looked at Crys. “Or you. You were never like that either.”
Crys gave a crooked smile. “Oh, I had my moments, as Paul would no doubt tell you.”
“But you were always okay with us,” Mel said.
Crys looked off into the distance. “Being with you, with Angela and you and Amber, was often my only salvation,” she said softly. “You made life bearable for me.”
“It was that bad?” Mel asked incredulously.
“Pretty much so. Paul was” — Crys grimaced — “manipulative, controlling, mentally abusive. And I gave him that power over me because, right or wrong, I always felt guilty for marrying him.” She glanced back at Mel. “Your mother made me see what was happening, helped me get everything back into perspective. She’s a good friend.”
Mel nodded. “It must have been hard for you.”
They were silent for long moments and then Crys shrugged again. “Well, that’s in the past now, and we don’t want to put a complete damper on the rest of the day. Let’s have a change of subject.” She dug into the cooler. “How about an apple?”
Mel took the fruit and absently polished the rosy skin on the leg of her jeans. “I know Mum’s been great, but Mum and I…” She paused, seeking the right words. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye.”
Crys grinned. “That’s an understatement.” She sobered. “But your mother does love you, Mel.”
“I know. I guess we’re just different people. Maybe she should have had two daughters like Amber.”
“Rubbish!” Crys exclaimed. “Your mother loves you as you are. Both of you.”
And would she still love me if she knew I was a lesbian? Mel wanted to ask.
“It’s difficult realizing your kids have grown up,” Crys continued. “But she’s very proud of you.”
Mel nodded. “I know she is.” And she did know that. “But she doesn’t really know me,” Mel said carefully. “I mean, I haven’t lived at home for ten years or so. I sort of feel I’ve, well, grown away from her.”
“Not really away from her. You’ve just grown up, and as you said, made your own life. But you’re still basically you, Mel. That never changes.” Crys leaned forward and gave Mel a slight shove. “Unless you’ve developed into a secret homicidal maniac or something,” she added teasingly.
Mel laughed despite herself, her mood lightening. “No. I’ll admit I felt like slipping over the edge a couple of times, but my innate goodness must have held me back. What do you think?”
“I think it must have.” Crys lay back and tried to settle the cooler lid under her head as a pillow. “Mmm, don’t you love the smell of freshly cut grass? And the food and the wine and the g
ood company have made me sleepy.” She moved the cooler lid and grimaced.
“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” Mel said.
Crys squirmed again. “It isn’t but in lieu of a soft pillow…”
Before she thought about it, Mel pushed herself to her hands and knees and moved over behind Crys. She sat down and removed the cooler lid, sliding her long legs under Crys’s head in place of the lid.
“There. That should be more comfortable.” Mel looked down, her eyes met Crys’s, and that same tingling of awareness sprang so easily to the surface again.
CHAPTER SIX
Mel and Crys arrived home from the lower paddock and took much-needed showers. Tomorrow they’d sift the seed to remove blades of grass and insects before spreading the seed out to dry. Now, after a light meal, they were sitting in the lounge.
Crys had picked up the newspaper and was reading the day’s news, but Mel felt jumpy and disoriented. She had been since those few seconds when Crys’s head had been resting in Mel’s lap and Crys had looked up at her with those unfathomable dark eyes. It seemed to Mel that every minute nerve ending in her body had sprung into absolute alert mode. And stayed there.
Looking back, Mel couldn’t have told how long they’d stared into each other’s eyes, but just as Mel went to twine her fingers in Crys’s thick, graying hair and lower her mouth to Crys’s lips, Crys had broken that disturbing eye contact.
“Well, it is much more comfortable,” she’d said easily. “But just tell me when I cut off your circulation and your leg goes to sleep.” And then Crys had closed her eyes.
Mel’s hand had fallen back onto the blanket, but her body had continued to clamor its charged arousal. Cut off her circulation? Mel could almost laugh at that. Her circulation had gone into overdrive, her blood rushing around her body in an unequivocal frenzy.
They’d stayed like that for what seemed to Mel like an eternity, Crys apparently relaxed and Mel growing more tense by the second. In the periphery of her senses Mel took in the surrounding sounds, the rush of water over rocks, the buzz of busy insects, the chattering of birds in the trees. She saw the clear blue sky, the variegated greens of the trees and undergrowth. And she felt the cool breeze on her heated skin.
Yet Mel’s entire being was focused on Crys, on her nearness, on the weight of her head on Mel’s thigh, the sight of strands of Crys’s thick hair shifting in the wind. Mel’s narrowed gaze took in the length of Crys’s body stretched out on the blanket, her booted feet crossed at the ankles, her jeans-clad legs, rounded hips, and narrow waist, and the swell of her full breasts molded by her dark blue T-shirt.
Mel could even convince herself she could see the outline of Crys’s nipples, and her fingers yearned to reach out, tease those dusky peaks into hard nubs. And Mel swallowed convulsively, her mouth dry.
With her entire body as taut as a guitar string, Mel decided she could bear it no longer. She thought she’d go mad if she didn’t make some move. Take Crys in her arms. Get up and walk away. Anything.
And just then Crys stretched, pushed herself into a sitting position, and broke that so emotive contact.
“I guess this isn’t getting the paddock finished,” she said ruefully.
Mel pulled her legs up close to her body, clasped her arms around her knees. “It’s so peaceful here, isn’t it?” she said lamely, still so very aware of the heated imprint of Crys’s head lingering on her thigh. “But I suppose you’re right. We should get back to work.”
“It’s my turn on the tractor anyway.” Crys stood up and arched her back, causing her breasts to thrust out against her T-shirt.
Mel couldn’t help but stare at the line of Crys’s body, and she grew hot again.
“You might as well relax for a while longer,” Crys was continuing, unaware of Mel’s covert regard. “I’ll get back to it.” Then she was walking away, climbing up on the tractor, and disappearing from sight. As the tractor engine spluttered to life, Mel slowly released the breath she was holding.
Now, after sitting in the living room across from Crys, trying to find some interest in a farming magazine rather than Crys’s body, Mel decided she had to distract herself. She’d write a couple of postcards to her young nephew and niece. She’d bought the cards at Burleigh Heads and Aaron enjoyed such things to take to preschool for show-and-tell. Two-year-old Amanda liked anything her big brother liked.
“Damn. My pen’s just run out.” Mel glared at the offending ballpoint.
“There’s a box of them in the drawer over there.” Crys turned the page of the newspaper, and Mel got up and walked over to the sideboard.
“In this drawer here?”
“Mmm. Top one.”
Mel opened the drawer and shifted some papers. There was the box of pens resting on top of a photograph in a gold frame. Before she’d considered it might be intruding on Crys’s privacy, Mel pulled the photograph out and stared down at the youthful face smiling up at her. The scrawled message and signature were plainly legible.
All my love, Diane.
So this was Diane King. Although Mel had known of Diane’s existence in Crys’s life, she had never met Crys’s partner. Crys had introduced Diane to Mel’s mother, but all Angela had said was that Diane seemed a nice person. And later, when Mel had developed her crush on Crys, she’d felt a burning jealousy of the other woman who was only a name associated with the scandal that had surrounded Crys.
Mel gazed curiously at the photo. Diane’s was a conventionally pretty face, gamine, Mel guessed you’d call it, and her fairish hair was cut short, feathering her brow and cheeks.
“Where did you meet her?” Mel didn’t realize she’d actually spoken the words until she heard her own voice. She cringed, not believing she could be so insensitive.
She didn’t know if Crys still found it painful to talk about Diane. She certainly didn’t mention her very often.
The paper rustled, and Mel turned to face Crys, the photograph still in her hands. She shot a quick glance at the other woman.
Crys met her gaze for long moments, and then she looked casually back at the newspaper.
“Diane and I met at school,” she said evenly.
“At Somerville House?” Mel said softly. Crys nodded. “That’s where you first met Mum, too, wasn’t it? Did she know Diane as well back then?”
Crys shook her head. “No. Your mother had left school before Diane transferred there. Your mother was a senior when I started at Somerville, and Diane was nearly a year younger than I was.”
“Oh. She’s” — Mel swallowed — “she was very attractive.”
“Yes. She was.” Crys sighed softly. “That photo was taken after we left school. She must have been about eighteen.”
“You…were you…?” Mel flushed, her throat closing, and Crys folded her newspaper and set it aside.
“Were Diane and I lovers back then?” Crys finished for her. Mel nodded.
For some reason Mel could hear her heartbeats thumping in her chest.
“Yes, we were,” Crys continued. “We had been for a couple of years, while we were still at school, and afterward we shared a flat. I worked and Diane went to teachers’ training college.”
“But you, well, got married.” Mel voiced something that had bothered her for years.
“A lot of people, both men and women, get married when they shouldn’t, Mel,” Crys said dryly and shrugged. “Yes, I married Paul.”
Mel watched Crys’s fingers worry at the seam in her jeans. Then she sighed and looked across at Mel.
“I was nineteen, nearly twenty, when I got married. That was three months after Diane was posted to teach at a school in the country and decided it would be a good time for us to go our separate ways.” Crys gave a soft humorless laugh. “Well, eventually it was a mutual decision.
“We both felt the need to conform. And maybe we got tired of making excuses, fabricating absent boyfriends. I don’t know. I guess I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger.”
; Mel tried for a light note. “Don’t we all?”
Their eyes met, and Mel blushed hotly. Was Crys remembering Mel’s youthful indiscretion?
“So you must have been married for some time before you moved in next door to us?” she continued quickly. Crys nodded.
“About five years or so. And things weren’t too great between Paul and me even then. On top of everything we’d both wanted to start a family and hadn’t had any success with that, so I guess we were both a bit stressed. What with one thing and another it put quite a strain on our already shaky marriage. We’d also separated twice during that time.”
Crys looked away again. “And the year before Paul and I came to live near you, Diane had called me. She’d been transferred back to the city and wanted us to get back together.”
Mel’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Had Diane married or anything?”
“No. She’d been engaged but was sensible enough to see what a mistake she’d be making if she went ahead with it. Unlike I did. She’d had a couple of relationships with women, but she told me none of them meant as much to her as I did.
“I knew I was still in love with her, so I decided to be honest and told Paul I wanted a divorce and why. I thought he’d be angry, but he wasn’t. Well, I thought he wasn’t.” She shook her head. “I must have been living with my head in the clouds. Now I look back I can see he was absolutely livid with me, with both of us. But he hid that so well. He pretended he was all wounded but understanding, and he said he wanted us to stay friends.
“I ended up feeling guiltier by the minute. Then one night Paul called at Diane’s flat. I’d left Paul and had moved in with her by then. Well, Paul wanted to see me about something, I can’t remember what. One thing led to another, and Diane and I argued and, well, to cut a long story short, Diane accused me of caring more for him than I did for her, and we had the most devastating row in front of Paul.
“Diane left and Paul consoled me.” She gave another short laugh. “With hindsight I can see he was a master manipulator. He somehow talked me into coming back to him, giving our marriage another try. I told him I’d think about it.”
